


Laughter lingers in the air

by captainhurricane



Series: peace for the dragon souls [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, everyone makes an appearance - Freeform, well most - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Year's party continues in Skyhold. Krem dances. The Chargers sing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughter lingers in the air

The party begins somewhere around noon, two days before the new year is set to settle in place. Dragon Age ain’t over yet, yells the blacksmith and carves out another dragon head for the Inquisition’s towers. He’s black-out drunk in five hours and Blackwall finds himself taking over instead before he too is dragged to a party. By Sera, no less. 

"There are things to be done," Cullen protests but weakly, crumbling a bit under the Inquisitor’s raised eyebrow.

"You can do them later," the Inquisitor says, patting Cullen’s back. 

Some similar arguments are heard from the other advisors but Cassandra says it with a hint of a smile, the shadows on Leliana’s face lessen and Josephine hides a giggle behind her raised hand.

-

"Did I ever tell you about that time when I-" 

"Five times," Krem says with the long-suffering sigh of someone who has heard the same stories a hundred times. He isn’t participating that much but has already stuck his fingers into his ears as to not hear Iron Bull tell the same story to his avid listeners: now consisting of Sera, who’s giggle-snorting into her ale, Dorian whose grin has just widened and a rather very red-faced Cullen. 

"Krem of the crop," says the Iron Bull and leans to pat his second-in-command in the back and Krem sighs again, pats Bull’s back with more strength than necessary but he’s smiling, slightly crooked and his hair mushed. 

"Stop inventing new nicknames for me, boss," Krem huffs and Bull shrugs, leans back towards his listeners (Cullen has slipped away to listen to the Inquisitor telling another story of their escapades), but not before saying: "You know it’s only because you’re the best, Krem." To which Krem grins, shakes his head. The other Chargers have scattered to various parts of Skyhold, only Grim and Skinner remaining, the former sitting in one of the corner tables and jugging his sixth ale mug, the latter doing something dangerous with knives and a patron Krem doesn’t recognize listening and watching with wide eyes. 

"Right," says Krem to absolutely no one. 

-

The night sky isn’t pitch black but it’s deep, dark blue, the stars are bright and far away. There are soldiers still manning the battlements but some of them are just talking and laughing, some are drinking- and some are trying to drag their drunk friends away from the battlefields- “Maker’s breath you fool, you’ll fall!”- and the mood is. Well. Indescribable. Varric would probably say he’s seen it before, the calm before the storm but this time Varric can be found setting up an archery competition with Sera to the dismay of Cassandra. There are the Chargers, most of them sitting in a circle near a campfire, probably telling another exaggerated story. Stitches is chatting up one of the nurse girls and she’s giggling loudly, Dalish can be seen glancing once or twice towards the battlements where a lone figure can be seen prowling. Bull is nowhere to be seen but his loud laughter can be heard through the open door of the tavern. 

Krem. Well. 

"Your Worship," Krem says, his hair mushed, lipstick stain on his reddened cheek. 

"Krem," answers the Inquisitor, proud and bright as ever but he’s drunk and his steps are faltering.

"Don’t step on my toes, your worshipness," Krem says and takes the lead in the dance around one of the campfires set in Skyhold’s yard. The Inquisitor laughs, the sound surprisingly pleasant.

"You know, if nobody ever tells you, if you’re never told enough about how handsome you are then let me tell you," the Inquisitor says, narrowly avoids stepping on the aforementioned toes. Krem is smiling that secretive, crooked smile of his, long past the pain and uncertainty that once plagued him so much. 

"But your worship," he starts, dips the Inquisitor in a move smooth enough to make few of their watchers clap.  
"Are you flirting with me?"

The Inquisitor shrugs, hair on his face and his eyes, the green mark on his hand long since nothing but a faded scar. 

"Maybe. But it’s the truth. I’ve seen you tonight, seen the way you’ve interacted with all- well, everyone." The dance continues, the night goes on. Inside the tavern Maryden is joined by a smooth, clear voice; the drinkers, the party-goes clap in astonishment because who knew the Commander of their armies was such a good singer?

"Mm," says Krem and the waltz goes on to the tune of the night and the scent of freedom from evil.

"I’ve heard no less than three women and five men saying they are infatuated with you," the Inquisitor says, leaning closer than necessary. (inside the tavern, Cole sits on top of the stairs and hums, his fingers tapping a rhythm only he can hear. "He is as he is now and has been since birth. He loves, oh, he loves," Cole murmurs and smiles to himself). The flicker of the campfires throw orange shadows on both of their faces. The Inquisitor’s eyes gleam almost golden.

"And you, Your Worship?" says Krem, with his grin wider and his hands more careful since the Inquisitor has started to sway.

"Have you seen the people in the Inquisition?" The Inquisitor says instead. "I am in love with all of you. But you are a very handsome man, Krem."

Krem grins. Perhaps it’s the ale that has shaken his tongue loose and have made him all the more bolder. 

"If your Worship wishes, I wouldn’t mind a kiss," he says, yanks the slender body tighter against his. Not that the Inquisitor needs more yanking, his swaying steps making him lean against his dance partner. 

"You’ve already gotten some it seems," he murmurs, wraps his arms around Krem’s shoulders. 

“‘m glad you’re not wearing your armour.” 

-

At some point they do kiss but it’s just one in a dozen. Krem says ‘Your Worship’ once more with a twinkle in his eye and the Inquisitor raises one thin, slender eyebrow. 

"Maker go with you in this new year. That is, if you believe in him," The Inquisitor says. The corners of Krem’s mouth curl up. 

"And your Gods go with you, serah."


End file.
